Posts
I haven't been channeling this for a while. I don't know why. In the night-world, things just happen. But I felt the all too familiar spinal tingle and the subtle echo up beneath my scalp, so I sat down at the keyboard and waited. In six hours it'll be my birthday. You see, birthdays don't really begin at 12AM. They begin at the time you were born. So like my birthday runs from 7:31AM on July first to 7:31AM on July second. Twenty four hours..... That's why they call it a birth 'day.' If you start celebrating at 12AM and you weren't born till later, that would be jumping the gun. But some people ain't so fussy.
I don't know why I just said all that. Maybe Jonathon engaged my psyche before he had anything to say? If this turns out to be a two way conversation, I'll ask him. But usually he talks and I type.
OK, here it comes..... He has a new toy... a new way to kill people, for those nights when he's not hungry, but just bored. I guess because he's still in a more or less feral state it's all right. And Jonathon ain't in State College no more, or the woodlands surrounding it. He don't know where he is. County roads and borders mean nothing to orange-eyed night wraiths. He scampers through the leafy canopy with a quiet grace unseen among hominids since the days of homo-erectus. And he catches things... little things.... fast things... tiny mammals out on the prowl... snakes... large, unidentified species of arachnids plus the occasional unfortunate common forest gnome. Boy, do they squeal like pigs.
Oh, he still enters settlements, human mortal settlements, I mean. And he still kills bad people, only not with his teeth. Got a whole set a toys... got a lot a props... Gets 'em when he sublimates into stores and places... Stashes them with his clothes, mostly brand new, hard, scratchy, dark demin blue jeans, tighty-whities and tee shirts. Got a hidey hole in a little sub-basement under a old lady hair-fixin' salon. I don't know if it say that on the sign, but that the kind a place it is. Nobody been down there in eighteen years, so he's pretty safe. Watches TV and everything. Had a boost a transformer out of a motel to make it work, 'cause it an old one what had less picture lines than them new models they got today. That where he get the idea. Sees an infomercial 'bout vacuum bags guaranteed to wrinkle up all your bestest stuff and keep out them spiders. What they really mean is keep out them roachies, but it more civilized when you say spiders. Steals some a the biggest ones from a storage room in some old folks jail (nursing home) out by a Costco. They the best, twelve gauge plastic and all, like what used to get made into slipcovers (more like hazmat suits) for granny sofas. But since most a the grannies what liked that stuff is dead now, companies use it to mummify wool sweaters and such.
Jonathon got a whole lot of 'em. Got an old vacuum cleaner to... canister kind, what got long, snaky tubes. Only he don't store blankets in 'em. He fill 'em up with people. Give 'em the vampire fish eye, scramble up they brains a little and take 'em down... to that sub-basement, I mean. Gets 'em drunk... Get's 'em sleepy. Keeps a case a beer down there for just that purpose. Then, soon's they pass out, he strips 'em down and shoves 'em in, all curled up like freeze dried Incan corpses. Zips 'em shut and sucks out all the air. Shrink 'em up to nothing... Real flat, just like beef jerky. Noses get smashed to the side. Titties look all funny. Man-junk get all smushed up. Skin get all wrinkled. Sometimes they eyes is open. Sometimes they's closed. Ears get all bent too. Most of 'em look kind a stupefied. Few look like they jus' don't care.
Got fourteen stacked up right now in the corner. But he startin' a get sick a that game. Wanna play something else. Gonna move on soon and leave that crap behind.
Don't know what gonna happen when some dumb bastid find 'em.
Guess now all you serial killers what got storage problems gone start doin' the same thing ...
Shit, jus' 'cause you got issues don't mean you can't be organized...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
for more stuff, click on~>THIS ... please COMMENT and visit us on Twitter at @wilkravitz .... that's it for now...
I don't know why I just said all that. Maybe Jonathon engaged my psyche before he had anything to say? If this turns out to be a two way conversation, I'll ask him. But usually he talks and I type.
OK, here it comes..... He has a new toy... a new way to kill people, for those nights when he's not hungry, but just bored. I guess because he's still in a more or less feral state it's all right. And Jonathon ain't in State College no more, or the woodlands surrounding it. He don't know where he is. County roads and borders mean nothing to orange-eyed night wraiths. He scampers through the leafy canopy with a quiet grace unseen among hominids since the days of homo-erectus. And he catches things... little things.... fast things... tiny mammals out on the prowl... snakes... large, unidentified species of arachnids plus the occasional unfortunate common forest gnome. Boy, do they squeal like pigs.
Oh, he still enters settlements, human mortal settlements, I mean. And he still kills bad people, only not with his teeth. Got a whole set a toys... got a lot a props... Gets 'em when he sublimates into stores and places... Stashes them with his clothes, mostly brand new, hard, scratchy, dark demin blue jeans, tighty-whities and tee shirts. Got a hidey hole in a little sub-basement under a old lady hair-fixin' salon. I don't know if it say that on the sign, but that the kind a place it is. Nobody been down there in eighteen years, so he's pretty safe. Watches TV and everything. Had a boost a transformer out of a motel to make it work, 'cause it an old one what had less picture lines than them new models they got today. That where he get the idea. Sees an infomercial 'bout vacuum bags guaranteed to wrinkle up all your bestest stuff and keep out them spiders. What they really mean is keep out them roachies, but it more civilized when you say spiders. Steals some a the biggest ones from a storage room in some old folks jail (nursing home) out by a Costco. They the best, twelve gauge plastic and all, like what used to get made into slipcovers (more like hazmat suits) for granny sofas. But since most a the grannies what liked that stuff is dead now, companies use it to mummify wool sweaters and such.
Jonathon got a whole lot of 'em. Got an old vacuum cleaner to... canister kind, what got long, snaky tubes. Only he don't store blankets in 'em. He fill 'em up with people. Give 'em the vampire fish eye, scramble up they brains a little and take 'em down... to that sub-basement, I mean. Gets 'em drunk... Get's 'em sleepy. Keeps a case a beer down there for just that purpose. Then, soon's they pass out, he strips 'em down and shoves 'em in, all curled up like freeze dried Incan corpses. Zips 'em shut and sucks out all the air. Shrink 'em up to nothing... Real flat, just like beef jerky. Noses get smashed to the side. Titties look all funny. Man-junk get all smushed up. Skin get all wrinkled. Sometimes they eyes is open. Sometimes they's closed. Ears get all bent too. Most of 'em look kind a stupefied. Few look like they jus' don't care.
Got fourteen stacked up right now in the corner. But he startin' a get sick a that game. Wanna play something else. Gonna move on soon and leave that crap behind.
Don't know what gonna happen when some dumb bastid find 'em.
Guess now all you serial killers what got storage problems gone start doin' the same thing ...
Shit, jus' 'cause you got issues don't mean you can't be organized...
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
for more stuff, click on~>THIS ... please COMMENT and visit us on Twitter at @wilkravitz .... that's it for now...
No comments:
Post a Comment